


Luz de sol

by AkireMG



Series: ¡Desperdicio, amor! [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Mickey Milkovich, Byron-centric but it's about Mickey, Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Religion, Song: Sunlight (Hozier), also search it as sapphic hozier, his music fucking slaps fellas, i guess, thats an experience, translation of one of my own works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkireMG/pseuds/AkireMG
Summary: Byron knew it was over for him when he saw the scars on his pale skin. They went from his shoulder blades to his wrists in a pattern that Byron could only compare to the roots of a tree, multiple lines with a ton of little ramifications that all originated from where his wings should had been.He was wingless, and Byron found in him a brand-new thing to wonder about, to distract him from his tasks, to render him utterly useless when confronted by Mikhailo and those stormy blue eyes of his.
Relationships: Byron Koch/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: ¡Desperdicio, amor! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707988
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Luz de sol

**Author's Note:**

> I translated 'Luz de sol' because I really like this idea and I want to turn it into a multi-chapter one day.

The angels that have fallen from God’s grace can be counted with one hand.

  
It’s such a strange occurrence, that almost no one talks about it until it happens again. And then, everyone is too shocked to talk (to even think) about it in detail, to describe and explain and understand why it happens when God is forgiveness and love, not revenge and punishment. 

  
During a Fall, the world freezes with God’s pain and bitterness, with her archangels’ fear and rage, with the absolute denial of the precious cherubs and the incredulity of naïve angels. They are always caught by surprise, even though they know it can happen, that there’s no stopping it once it’s started. Memnoch’s Fall left them paralyzed, destroyed, and every fall since then had been just as devastating.

  
But Byron couldn’t really know anything about it because no angel has fallen in his years of existence. Everything he knows about it, he’s learned it from those rare times someone who lived through a Fall dares to speak of it. Once, he heard one of the oldest angels said that it hurt, literally. “It’s as if you’re seeing a part of you lose its home,” they said, their eyes fixated on Earth, but far from all the things and beings inhabiting it, “… seeing yourself lose what makes you… you.” 

  
That's all the angel could say before it became too much for them to bear. Byron, despite his curiosity, had better judgement and kept himself quiet. Having asked for more than what was so kindly offered to him wouldn’t have taken him nowhere but to being reprimanded. Archangels had taken in their own hands trying to prevent the youngest from ever hearing any stories about Memnoch's Fall; anyone’s Fall. They wanted to save them from the pain, from even attempting to imagine it. If they were so lucky as to not had been there to witness it, then there was no need for them to know about such a tragedy. Byron got where they were coming from, but he didn’t quite understand it.

  
Did anyone, though? Byron always wondered if anyone really understood, even if only to justify his never-ending unspoken questions. I was fine to have them, wasn’t it? Everyone went through the same doubts and no one dared to voice them out of respect for the angels that lived a Fall, that had to watched one of their own lose everything, right?

  
No. Not at all.

  
Apparently, no one asked because no one wanted to know. Everything related to Memnoch, even his name, was considered improper. Beings (still, Byron thought darkly) in God’s grace shouldn’t feel drawn to the stories of those who followed the Morning Star in his disgrace. Still, Byron couldn’t stop himself from marveling about the mystery of it all, its implications, the reasons behind them losing God's light and love to an eternity alone in the darkness. The Fallen had been labeled as this unlikely, better-not-knowing-about thing, and, as such, Byron was fascinated by the idea of them.  
Soon, however, he realized what the Fallen really meant to other beings of light (pain, loss of faith, helplessness), and made sure to not show much interest in the topic in front of his peers. Learning to stay quiet was way easier than being prepared to explain himself in front of the Archangels; not that they would tolerate his blatant desire to know, he would be punished almost instantly for making the grave mistake of wondering out loud twice.

  
For some time, Byron even managed to place his burning interest in “more appropriate” matters for a low-ranking angel as himself. Eventually, his world and work proved to be more demanding than it seemed at first, and Byron caught himself forgetting everything related to the Fallen from time to time.

Maybe, he mused in those moments when he remembered it all in its captivating glory, the amount of work he got buried under was one of the many ways the higher-ranking angels made sure to keep their subordinate’s minds off those improper topics they refused to acknowledge. Maybe, he also thought then, he was just obsessed and overthinking the curious feeling inside his chest, that tiny sparkle of something being not quite right about Memnoch’s Fall and the way it was handled.

  
Still, none of that changed for decades. His whirlwind of angelic responsibilities and discoveries always succeeded in keeping him focused, time and time again, until Byron, at the amazing number of one hundred years of existing, was about to give up and finally succumb to what had been told to him by everyone he came in contact with since he thought his first thought: why would you want to know about that?

  
It would have taken just a little more to convince him to let it go, but then, he was chosen for the second mission of his existence that would require him to live on Earth, and he met Archangel Azrael and his right-hand man, angel Mikhailo.

  
Byron knew it was over for him when he saw the scars on his pale skin. They went from his shoulder blades to his wrists in a pattern that Byron could only compare to the roots of a tree, multiple lines with a ton of little ramifications that all originated from where his wings should had been.

  
He was wingless, and Byron found in him a brand-new thing to wonder about, to distract him from his tasks, to render him utterly useless when confronted by Mikhailo and those stormy blue eyes of his.

If his superiors weren’t all that satisfied with him before, they would be outright displeased with him now; but that didn’t sound like such a bad thing when Mikhailo was there, next to him. (And honestly, with his mind’s tendency to wander and obsess, Byron didn’t know what they had been expecting when they picked him for this particular mission.)

  
It came as a great surprised when his questions about how a wingless angel came to be, led him back to his ever-present, if most of the time inhibited, fascination with the Fallen.

  
Trying to figure Mikhailo out, he stumbled upon the name of a Fallen.

  
One of the four to ever be and the last one to fall.

  
Ian.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
